The Lull After the Storm
by Rosage
Summary: FE9, post-war.  Ike wakes up one day in a terrible mood.  Nobody's efforts to get through to him work, but maybe Soren just being there is enough.  Pre-romance Ike/Soren.


Author's note: As I'm trying to improve my Fire Emblem writing, I appreciate comments and critiques.

Servants scattered in the wake of Ike's footsteps. Even palace maids, prone to flouncing around Ike and giggling into their hands, huddled away from his stomping. People often misinterpreted Ike's perpetual scowls and deadpan speech for moodiness. Today, they were right.

When Mia asked Ike to spar, he mumbled his decline at the floor. Confused, Mia left him to memorize the marble.

Boyd was unlucky enough to ask for a training session after Ike had rejected six people. Patience sapped, Ike growled at Boyd. Boyd noticed Ike's furrowed brow and trapped his retort inside.

Titania heard Boyd complain and approached Ike tactfully. Out of respect for her, Ike mumbled an apology mid-snap. When she asked if she could do anything for him, he shook his head. She left him to brood.

Realizing he was being rude and unproductive, Ike started training by himself. He gave up after nearly decapitating a statue. Ranulf's quip about 'losing obsessive training habits' didn't go over well.

Mist cooked Ike's favorite meal to cheer him up, but he barely glanced at it. She shoved back her disappointment as a cook and asked what was wrong. "Can't I just not be hungry?" Ike demanded. He left her to process the concept.

Once she had, she told everyone, cementing in their minds that Ike wasn't feeling well. No offered advice, distractions, or condolences worked. At a loss, everyone left him alone, hoping he'd sleep it off.

After upsetting most of his company and losing focus in every attempted activity, Ike gave up and shuffled away. He scowled at a gold-plated pillar as if it was causing his troubles. Entering an abandoned room, Ike sighed at a welcome lack of decorations. He settled into a plain chair. Wood. Solid. _At least I can't yell at anyone else here, _he thought.

His solitude lasted precious few moments. Ike was, of course, never alone.

Ike lifted a weak arm in greeting when he saw Soren standing in the doorway. Soren closed the door carefully and stepped inside. Spotting the binder under his staff officer's arm, Ike slumped.

"Oh," he said. "I was supposed to meet you for today's report, wasn't I?"

"Yes."

"Sorry," Ike sighed. "It slipped my mind." Even as a rookie commander, he had never missed a briefing with Soren. Ike had regretted pushing others away, but this felt criminal.

Soren set the binder beyond Ike's reach and moved away from it. Stepping smoothly beside his commander, he folded his arms behind his back and stood like an army man at attention.

Sharp eyes examined Ike. Soren spoke in measured monotone. "You ate minimally at breakfast, picked absently at lunch, and eschewed dinner entirely, despite it being your favorite stew. Upon hearing your footsteps, castle residents declared a thunderstorm had ended the recent dry spell. Even the castle maids stayed away from you—" He broke his impartiality with a brief eye roll. "—and all of your facial mannerisms exhibit extreme stress." He paused. "I can describe each of said mannerisms if you'd like."

"No, that's alright," Ike said.

Considering Soren's delivery, he might as well have been giving the scheduled report. Ike half-expected the speech to segue into _we're running out of dried fruit and the Daein army is reanimating. _Still, Ike recognized the concerned gesture. He pictured Soren taking behavioral notes, waiting until Ike was alone to approach him.

Soren patiently waited for an explanation. This was Soren of all people, so Ike wanted to give him one, but he didn't know how to explain his mood. He wasn't even sure what had caused it.

He'd finally reclaimed Crimea and thrown away his ridiculous title. Nevertheless, the Greil Mercenaries remained in Melior. Ike yearned to leave this diamond-crusted palace and feel soil under his feet. He longed for a time when the only people who knew him were his family and villagers who called for help with bandits. Backbreaking physical labor suited him better than meetings with nobles. If one more lord peered down their nose at him, he'd break out in hives.

Ike knew he wanted to be home, but that wasn't news. It didn't explain how he felt today. He'd been fine the day before, but woke up feeling wretched.

Unable to define his problem, Ike remained silent. Soren spoke, finally softening his tone. "Ike, what's wrong?"

Breaking out of his thoughts, Ike blinked in surprise at his hands. He hadn't been aware of clenching them, but they shook with a tension running through his back. He exhaled and dropped his shoulders.

"Everything," he said. "Everything's wrong." He glanced up to see Soren's face silently encouraging him to continue. Ike inhaled deeply. "This castle's fancy walls are wrong. The tables set with twelve kinds of silverware are wrong. The balls that I _still _don't know why I'm supposed to attend are wrong. The damned snooty nobles and their rules are wrong. The war, the politics, the stay in Begnion, the march through Daein, and everything else I've done in the last year of my life is all just_ wrong_." Ike took another breath, preparing for a new tirade, but only one quiet sentence slipped out. "My father not being here is wrong."

Ike swallowed. The words surprised him, though in hindsight he should have expected them. Time had passed, but the wound, buried as it was, felt raw.

Ike blinked, but his eyes didn't water. If anything, they were dry from weariness. Mist had cried enough for both of them, even after Ike expected her to shrivel like a raisin. Ike recalled asking Rhys to cry in his stead. He only now wondered if that was wrong.

Wrong or not, no tears came. Ike looked up at Soren, who had stood through Ike's rant and quiet admission. Soren's face wore no expression, but his parted lips and tense shoulders revealed that he was grappling for words. Knowing Soren's inexperience with comfort and not wanting him to fret, Ike patted the seat of a chair. Soren took it immediately. Ike continued speaking to reinforce that it was enough to listen.

"I think that's the real problem," he said. "My father. Everything else wouldn't be so bad if he was…here." A million thoughts swarmed him. _He's not here, so there's no use thinking about it. Go find something useful to do. Don't you have something to work on? There's always something to work on. At least swing a sword around. Just do_ something_._

The thoughts layered and buzzed in his mind like pests. Ike shook them away. He'd gotten through the war, and wouldn't have regular mercenary work for a while. He could afford—maybe deserved—a break, if only for the evening.

Ike spoke to break the thoughts. "I try to keep working hard so that I can't think about everything, but I can't ignore the pain forever." Soren's eye's expressed understanding. Realization hit Ike. "Oh," he whispered. "I don't need to tell you that."

"You certainly don't," Soren whispered back. Ike's chest ached.

Silence fell. Soren's softened face molded back into his usual mask, but the sharpness couldn't retake his eyes. "You should rest," he finally said.

Ike laughed humorlessly. "There's a concept. I'm not even sure I know how."

Soren raised an eyebrow. "You could start by actually going to bed at a decent hour." Ike caught the wry tone. It gave him a reason to smile, so he did.

"If my strategist says so." He stood and stretched. His grin widened when he saw his playful tone earn the intended eye roll.

Soren stood when Ike did as if puppet strings attached them, but neither moved to leave. Though Ike had no reason to stay, something he couldn't define kept him rooted. A strange inkling tugged at him. Even though they always parted in the evening and met in the morning to spend most of the day together, Ike didn't want to leave Soren. He couldn't make sense of the notion. He couldn't even articulate it to answer Soren's questioning eyes. To Ike's surprise, he didn't want to try. When had he ever kept something from Soren?

_Oh, this is pointless, _he thought._ I should just go to bed. _Still, he stayed.

"Ike?" Soren asked. "Is something the matter?"

When he noticed uncertainty sneak into Soren's voice, Ike tried to smile. "No, it's fine. And…thanks. For listening."

"Not at all," Soren said quietly. He averted his eyes before returning them to Ike's gaze. "Did it…ease your mind?"

Smiling took no effort this time. Ike felt touched, knowing that any probe of feelings discomforted Soren. "It did. Thank you."

Soren bowed his head. "It's an honor."

Ike felt a warm hum of affection. Most people would have found the formality inappropriately distant, but Ike wasn't most people.

"You get some rest, too," Ike said. "That's an order."

"I will, after I finish the work I'd planned on."

"Given how much you work, that means not until dawn, right?" Ike earned a withering look.

"I will endeavor to finish sooner."

"You do that. Hey," Ike said, "do you mind doing your work in my room?"

"Why?"

Ike was surprised to be relieved that Soren's expression held no judgment. "I don't want to be left alone with my thoughts after everything today," Ike explained. "I thought the scratching of your quill might help me sleep."

Soren looked bemused. "An odd lullaby preference, but if you think it will help. However, with this castle's layout, getting back to my own room in the dark will be inconvenient."

"So stay with me," Ike said.

A strangled noise escaped Soren's throat. "That's…not necessary."

"Getting lost at night in a place this big could be dangerous, right?" When Soren hesitated, Ike added, "I don't mind."

"Well, alright," Soren muttered.

Ike turned and left. The corridors he had felt so out of place stomping through earlier weren't so chilling when footfalls as natural as his own breath followed him.

Ike's choice of lullaby may have been odd, but it worked. Rare contentment soothed him as he listened to the scratch of writing and occasional frustrated breaths. Figures slid through Ike's mind, facts and calculations he wouldn't have understood without Soren.

When Ike woke, he was alone—but of course, Ike was never alone. Burying his face in the pillow, Ike inhaled the lingering scent of ink. He breathed deeply and gave himself a moment to feel.

The footsteps in the corridor that day fell as lightly as a quill upon parchment.


End file.
